His Shy Cinderella

He could ring her PA and talk her into setting up a meeting, though he was pretty sure that Angel had given her strict instructions to do nothing of the kind.

Or he could try a slightly riskier option. He was pretty sure that Angel McKenzie spent all her energies on her business; so there was a very good chance that she’d work through her lunch break and eat a sandwich at her desk.

If he supplied the sandwich, she couldn’t really refuse a lunch meeting with him on Monday, could she?

The more he thought about it all day, the more he liked the idea.

Gina’s dossier didn’t tell him whether Angel was vegetarian, hated fish or had any kind of food allergies. So at the supermarket on Monday morning he erred on the side of caution and bought good bread, good cheese, heritage tomatoes, a couple of deli salads and olives.

Though he had to be realistic: Angel could still say no and close the door in his face, so he needed a plan B to make sure she said yes. And there was one obvious thing. Something that, in her shoes, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

He flicked the switch to trigger his car’s voice-control audio system, connected it to his phone and called Gina as he drove home. ‘I’m not going to be in the office today,’ he said, ‘and I won’t be able to answer my phone, so can you text me if there’s anything I need to deal with?’

‘You’re taking a day’s holiday?’ She sounded surprised: fair enough. He didn’t take many days off, and he normally gave her a reasonable amount of notice.

‘This is work,’ he said. Of sorts.

‘And it involves a girl,’ Gina said dryly.

Yes, but not quite how she thought. And he could do without the lecture. ‘I’ll check in with you later,’ he said.

Back at his house, he collected a couple of sharp knives, cutlery, glasses and plates from the kitchen, dug out a bottle of sparkling water, put the lot into a picnic basket and then headed out to his garage. He backed one of his cars into the driveway and took a photograph of it, then put the picnic basket in the back. If Angel refused to have lunch with him or even talk to him, he was pretty sure that the photograph would change her mind.

* * *

Angel’s PA gave Brandon a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have an appointment, Mr Stone, and Ms McKenzie’s diary is fully booked.’

Brandon glanced at the nameplate on her desk. ‘If I didn’t already have a fabulous PA who also happens to be my mother’s best friend,’ he said, ‘I’d definitely think about poaching you, Stephanie, because I really admire your loyalty to Ms McKenzie.’

Stephanie went pink. ‘Oh.’

‘And, because I think you keep an eye on her,’ he said, ‘I’m pretty sure you’re the one who actually makes her take a break at lunchtime, even if it’s just five minutes for a sandwich at her desk.’

‘Well—yes,’ Stephanie admitted.

‘So today I brought the sandwich instead of you having to do it,’ he said, gesturing to the picnic basket he was carrying.

‘I really can’t—’ she began.

‘Stephie, is there a prob—?’ Angel asked, walking out of her office. Then she stopped as she saw Brandon. ‘Oh. You.’

‘Yes. Me,’ he agreed with a broad smile.

‘What do you want?’

‘I brought us some lunch.’ He focused on charming her PA. ‘Stephanie, if you’d like to join us, you’re very welcome.’

‘I, um...’ Stephanie went even pinker.

‘Don’t try to use my PA as a pawn,’ Angel said grimly. ‘And I don’t have time for lunch.’

‘The same as your diary’s allegedly fully booked, but there’s nobody actually sitting in your office right now having a meeting with you?’

She frowned. ‘You really are persistent, aren’t you?’

‘We’ve already discussed that. Persistence is a business asset.’

‘Wasn’t it Einstein who said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?’ she asked coolly.

‘That’s been attributed to quite a few other people, from ancient Chinese proverbs to Rita Mae Brown,’ he said, enjoying himself. Sparring with someone with a mind like Angel McKenzie’s was fun. ‘Actually, I’m not doing the same thing over and over again. This is lunch, not breakfast.’

* * *

If Brandon had driven to Cambridgeshire from his family’s factory near Oxford, that would’ve taken him at least a couple of hours if the traffic was good, Angel thought. He’d made an effort. Maybe she should make a little effort back. If she talked to him, maybe she might get him to understand that she was serious about not selling her company. ‘Do you want some coffee?’

‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

And his smile wasn’t in the least bit smug or triumphant. It was just...nice. And it made her spine tingle.

‘I’ll make it, if you like.’

Had her hearing system just gone wrong? The man was used to women hanging on his every word. He hadn’t even been invited here and yet he’d walked in. And now... She blinked. ‘You’re offering to make coffee?’

‘Is there something wrong with the idea of a man making coffee?’

Ouch. She’d just been sexist and he’d called her on it. Fairly. ‘I guess not.’

‘Don’t make assumptions,’ he said softly. ‘Especially if you’re basing them on what the press says about me.’

Was he telling her that he wasn’t the playboy the press suggested he was? Or was he playing games? Brandon Stone flustered her. Big time. And she couldn’t quite work out why. Was it just because he was so good-looking? Or did she see a tiny hint of vulnerability in his grey eyes, showing that there was more to him than just the cocky, confident racing champion? Or was that all just wishful thinking and he really was a shallow playboy?

What she did know was that he was her business rival. One who wanted to buy her out. She probably shouldn’t even be talking to him.

On the other hand, if Triffid didn’t get that contract to her and the bank carried out its threat of calling in her overdraft, she might be forced to eat humble pie and sell McKenzie’s to him, no matter how much she’d hate it. Short of winning the lottery, right now she was all out of ideas.

‘So where’s the coffee machine?’ he asked.

‘The staff kitchen’s next down the corridor on the left as you go out of the door,’ Stephanie said. ‘The mugs are in the cupboard and so are the coffee pods.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her, and turned to Angel. ‘Cappuccino, no sugar, right?’

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘How do you like your coffee, Stephanie?’ he asked.

His courtesy made Angel feel a little bit better about Plan C. If he treated junior staff well rather than ignoring them or being dismissive, that was a good sign for the future if he did end up taking over McKenzie’s. Maybe he wasn’t as ruthless as she feared, despite his family background. Or maybe he just wanted her to think that.

‘I’m not drinking coffee at the moment,’ Stephanie said, and rested her hand briefly on her stomach.

Angel could see from the change in Brandon’s expression that he’d noticed the tiny gesture, too, and realised what it meant. Stephanie was pregnant. Was it her imagination, or did she see pain and regret flicker briefly over his expression? But why would a pregnancy make him react like that?

None of her business, she reminded herself.

‘What can I get you, Stephanie?’ Brandon asked.

‘Fruit tea, please. There’s some strawberry tea in the cupboard.’

He smiled. ‘Got you. Is it OK to leave my basket here on your desk for a second?’

‘Sure,’ she said.

As he walked out, Stephanie mouthed to Angel, ‘He’s nice.’

Yeah. That was the problem. He wasn’t just an arrogant playboy. There was another side to Brandon Stone—a side she could let herself like very, very much. Which made him dangerous to her peace of mind.

* * *

Brandon returned to Angel’s office, carrying three mugs. He put Stephanie’s strawberry tea on her desk, then picked up the picnic basket. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Stephanie?’

She went very pink again. ‘No, but thank you for asking.’

‘Is it OK to put the coffee on your desk?’ he asked when he followed Angel through to her office.

‘Sure.’ She looked surprised that he’d asked. Did she have a downer on all men? That would explain why Gina hadn’t been able to find any information about Angel dating anyone. But she was reportedly close to her father, so maybe it wasn’t all men. Maybe someone had hurt her badly and she hadn’t trusted anyone since.

And how weird was it that the thought made him want to bunch his fists and dispense a little rough justice to the guy who’d hurt her? Angel McKenzie seemed quite capable of looking after herself. She didn’t need a tame thug. Besides, Brandon didn’t settle arguments with fists: there were much better ways to sort out problems.

Angel made him feel slightly off balance, and he couldn’t work out why.

He scanned the room. Her office was super-neat and tidy. There were photographs on the walls; some were of cars he recognised as being iconic McKenzie designs, but there was also a picture on her desk of a couple who were clearly her parents, and one more on the wall of someone he didn’t recognise but he guessed had something to do with the business—maybe her grandfather?

He unpacked the picnic basket, put the bread on a plate and cut a few slices, then handed her a plate and his other sharp knife. ‘Help yourself to cheese.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s not much of a choice, but I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian,’ he said.

‘No, though I do try to do meat-free Mondays.’ She paused. ‘It’s nice of you to have brought lunch.’

There was definitely a hint of suspicion in those beautiful violet eyes. She was clearly wondering what he wanted, because there was no such thing as a free lunch.

He wasn’t quite sure he could answer her unasked question. He wanted McKenzie’s. That was the main reason he was here. But he also wanted her, and that threw him. ‘Think of it as a sandwich at your desk,’ he said.

She took a nibble of the cheese and then the bread. ‘A very nice sandwich, too.’

‘So who are the people in the photographs?’ he asked.

‘The one on the wall over there is my grandfather Jimmy, back in the early days of McKenzie’s.’ She gestured to her desk. ‘My mum and dad, Sadie and Max.’

Just as he’d guessed; but there were no pictures of Esther, who’d been at the centre of the rift between Barnaby Stone and Jimmy McKenzie. He wondered if Angel looked anything like her. Not that he was going to ask. He kept the conversation light and anodyne, then cleared away when they’d both finished.

‘So,’ he said. ‘We managed to have a civilised meal together.’

‘I guess.’

‘We’ve done breakfast and lunch.’ But the next words out of his mouth weren’t quite the ones he’d intended to say. ‘Would you like to come to a gala dinner with me?’

CHAPTER THREE

ANGEL REALLY HADN’T expected that, and it flustered her. ‘You’re asking me on a date?’ she queried, hoping she looked and sounded a lot calmer than she felt.

‘I guess so,’ he drawled.

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Because gala dinners tended to be noisy and she found it wearing, having to make small talk and being forced to concentrate really hard to hear what people said.

Plus Brandon Stone dated a lot and he wasn’t the serious type. She didn’t want to get involved with him, professionally or personally. ‘You’re a Stone and I’m a McKenzie,’ she said finally.

‘“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”’

‘Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you were an engineer?’

‘I did Romeo and Juliet for GCSE. Besides, doesn’t everyone know that line?’

‘Maybe. So are we Montagues and Capulets?’

She scoffed. ‘I have no intention of swooning over you on a balcony. Or drinking poison. And,’ she pointed out, ‘at thirty, I’m also more than twice Juliet’s age.’

‘Ouch. Thus speaks the engineer.’

‘And that’s why I don’t want to date you. You’d spend all evening either flirting with me or making smart, annoying remarks.’

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘you’re meant to flirt with your date.’

‘Flirting’s superficial and overrated.’

‘Clearly nobody’s flirted properly with you.’

That was a little too near the mark. ‘I don’t need to be flirted with.’

He held her gaze. ‘No?’

‘No.’ She looked away.

‘When was the last time you dated?’ he asked.

Too long ago. ‘Wasn’t that in your dossier?’ she retorted.

‘Now who’s making the smart remarks?’

At her silence, he continued, ‘The gala evening is a charity dinner. The proceeds go to help the families of drivers who’ve been hurt or killed on the track.’

Was he trying to guilt her into agreeing? It was for a cause she knew was close to his heart, given that his brother had been killed; and it was a cause she’d be happy to support. But going to a posh dinner with Brandon, where she’d have to dress up and she’d feel totally out of place among all the glamorous socialites...

He sighed. ‘At least think about it.’

She made a noncommittal noise, which she hoped he’d take as meaning ‘maybe’ and would back off.

* * *

Brandon was furious with himself. There were plenty of women who’d love to go to the gala dinner with him, so why was he spending this much effort on someone who’d made it quite clear that she didn’t want to go anywhere with him?

He should never have mentioned the gala dinner.

He should’ve stuck to business.

At least if they’d been talking about cars, they would’ve had something in common. Maybe that was the way to get this conversation back on track. ‘Would you show me round the factory?’

Those beautiful violet eyes widened in surprise. ‘That’s direct. Don’t you prefer other people to look things up for you and report back?’

Maybe he deserved that one. ‘I’m not spying on you, if that’s your implication. Anyone who works in our industry would be itching to look round, and sit in one of your cars and pretend to be its owner.’

She scoffed. ‘My cars are very affordable. If you wanted one, you could buy one. In fact, you could buy a whole fleet for the price of just one of yours.’

‘If that’s your best patter,’ he said, ‘you should sack yourself as head of sales.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What do you want from me, Mr Stone?’

A lot of things. Some of which he hadn’t quite worked out. ‘First-name terms, for a start.’ He paused. ‘Angel.’

She looked as if she was warring with herself, but then finally nodded. ‘Brandon. OK. I’ll show you round the factory.’

* * *

Walking through the factory with Brandon felt weird. Tantamount to parading her flock of lambs in front of a wolf. Though at least she’d already warned her staff that he’d made an offer and she’d refused. She’d reinforce that later.

Please let that contract come through today.

She knew that the Frost prototype was in a partitioned-off part of the factory, safely away from his gaze. But he could see the areas where the body parts were sprayed, the leather seats were hand-cut and hand-sewn, the engines were built and the final cars were assembled. If he saw the process for himself he’d understand what was so special about McKenzie’s, and why she was so adamant about keeping things as they were.

‘This is the Luna,’ she said. ‘This one’s being built by Ernie and Ravi. Ernie, Ravi, this is Brandon Stone.’

Ernie gave him a curt nod, but Ravi shook his hand enthusiastically and smiled. ‘I’ve seen you race. I was there when you won the that championship, six years ago.’

‘A lifetime ago,’ Brandon said softly. ‘I’m on the other side of the business now.’

Ravi looked awkward. ‘Sorry. I didn’t...’

‘It’s fine.’ Brandon clearly knew what the other man wasn’t saying. He hadn’t meant to trample over a sore spot and bring up Sam’s death. He patted Ravi’s shoulder briefly. ‘I really like the lines of this car. Is it OK for me to have a look at the engine?’

‘Sure.’ Ravi popped the catch on the bonnet.

Ernie gestured to Angel to step to the side while Ravi was showing Brandon the engine. ‘What are you doing, Angel?’ he asked in an angry whisper. ‘I thought you said you weren’t selling?’

‘I’m not. He turned up today. I’m showing him round the factory so he can see our processes for himself,’ Angel said, ‘and to prove we’re not compatible with Stone’s.’

* * *

‘You’re a good boss, lass, but you’re no match for a company that ruthless.’ He shook his head. ‘You be careful.’

‘I will.’ Even though Ernie should’ve retired a couple of years back, Angel appreciated the fact he’d decided to stay on, training their younger staff and making sure the quality control lived up to their brand’s promise. And she knew he had the company’s interests at heart; he’d accepted her as his boss because he knew she paid the same attention to detail that he did, and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and work on the factory floor if she was needed.

As they walked through the different stations, she could see Brandon looking intrigued. ‘This is very different from the way we do things at Stone’s,’ he said.

‘Exactly. I’m glad you see your business is completely incompatible with mine.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I’m saying it for you.’

He just looked at her as if to say he knew something she didn’t. She brushed off her worries by switching the conversation back to technical issues. ‘I guess you need more tech in a race car than in a roadster. Doesn’t its steering wheel alone cost as much as we charge for a basic Luna?’

‘There are a lot more electronics in one of our steering wheels than in a Luna’s,’ he said, and she noticed that he avoided the question. ‘Maybe you should come and take a look at our place in Oxford and see how we do things.’

See where he planned to change her beloved hand-built into mass-produced monsters? She fell back on a noncommittal, ‘Mmm.’

‘Thanks for showing me round,’ he said as she walked him back to the reception area. ‘But, before I go, I thought you might like to see my favourite car ever.’ He took his phone from his pocket and showed her a photograph of a gorgeous iridescent turquoise car with outrageous tail fins.

She recognised it instantly as her own favourite car. Did he know that from his dossier? Was he playing her? ‘That’s a McKenzie Mermaid. My grandfather designed it in the early sixties.’

‘I know.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I would’ve expected you to prefer one of your own family’s cars, or one of the classic 1960s sports cars.’

‘I like the classics,’ he said, ‘but I fell in love with the Mermaid when I saw a picture of it as a kid.’

It had been the same for her. If only there had been more than a hundred of them ever produced. The only one she’d ever seen had been in a museum, years ago, and even the fact that she was a McKenzie hadn’t been enough for the curators to allow her to touch it, let alone sit in it. And because Mermaids were so rare they almost never came up for sale.

His next comment floored her completely. ‘Which is why I bought one, six years ago. After I won the championship race.’

She stared at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. ‘That picture... Are you telling me that’s actually yours?’

‘Uh-huh. It was a bit of a mess when I first saw it. It’d been left in a barn for years. There was more rust than anything else, and mice had eaten their way through the leather.’

‘So you picked it up for a song.’ That figured.

‘Actually, I paid a fair price,’ he said.

Why did she suddenly feel so guilty? She pushed the thought away. All her life, she’d been told that Stones were ruthless asset-strippers, and what she’d read in the business press had only confirmed that. Hadn’t Barnaby walked away from the original company with way more than his fair share?

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